Kitabı oku: «Black Forest Village Stories», sayfa 19

2.
FLYING OFF THE HANDLE

It was dark. Crescence stood by the fire in the kitchen: the College Chap came in with very audible steps, and said, -

"Crescence, how are you? I want a pound of that tobacco. Have you got any left?"

"Yes, walk in: my mother 'll wait on you."

"I won't poison your soup if I do stay here a bit," he said aloud: then he continued, very softly, "Florian's got home. Come out a little after a while, and you shall hear us."

Without waiting for an answer, he went into the room. When he came out again, Crescence was gone.

A little later the voices of the three comrades were heard before the Red Tailor's house, singing, whistling, and laughing. Florian's, which had long been wanting, was doubly clear and full. Finding all their efforts unavailing, Peter cried under the window, -

"Crescence, isn't this your goose running about here?"

The College Chap, crouching behind the wood-pile, was cackling with the accent of a native.

The window was opened; but, instead of Crescence, the tailor's wife looked out, and said, -

"Crack your jokes before somebody else's house."

With a roar of laughter the College Chap returned to the middle of the road.

Within, Crescence sat with the geometer, paying but little heed to his blandishments: at last she feigned a headache and went to bed.

Tired of their fruitless watch, the three boys in the road bent their steps toward the inn. They had not gone far before they encountered Josey, the French simpleton. The College Chap cried, seizing him by the collar, -

"Qui vive? la bourse on la vie?"

"Paridadoin mullien," calmly replied the person addressed, meaning to say, "What do you want?"

"Here's a jolly lark!" cried the student, triumphantly. "Let's take Josey with us and make him do the geometer. Come; we'll treat you to a mug of beer."

"Moin paroula goin," answered Josey, – as if to say, "I've no objections." His words were all formed by accident; and he eked them out with nods and grins. Originally Josey was not more than half a simpleton; but the half which Nature had denied had been carefully educated into him by the wags of the village. If any villager has a mole in his disposition, he may be assured that his townsmen will stretch it into a mountain for their common behoof and education.

Nobody knew, or cared to know, what had given Josey the notion that he was master of all the living tongues. Some contended that he had been dry-nurse so long as to have acquired the baby-lingo by incessant practice. Be that as it may, it was impossible to address him in any real or imaginary language without receiving an instantaneous reply. This apart, he was as good a field-hand as many others; and, whether he understood the language of the beasts or not, they understood him and did his bidding. In church Josey was the only member of the congregation who nodded at every word of the Latin mass, to imply that he understood it to perfection.

This individual was for this evening the fourth member of the usually so exclusive confederacy of three.

"Bon soir," said Florian, as they entered the bar-room. He received a kindly welcome at all hands. The assembled guests scanned him from head to foot, and nodded to each other with looks that seemed to say, "A fine fellow, Florian; yes, if you want to come home you must go abroad first."

One who sat behind the stove said to his neighbor, "This is a better way to come back than that thief Schlunkel's: he's been twice to the penitentiary, and has just come back. I wish we were rid of him again."

Florian ordered a bottle of wine for himself and his comrades, while Josey was regaled with a mug of beer at an adjoining table.

When Babbett brought the refreshments, he remarked, in an under-tone, but yet loud enough to be heard by all, "Comme elle est jolie!-bien jolie!"

"Qui?" returned the College Chap. The company nudged each other, – to think they could talk French so well together.

Florian treated the whole company, – to their great satisfaction, for, though frequenters of the tavern, they sat there as dry customers: the stimulus made their hearts glad, and the sensation was reflected upon the spirits of Florian. He seemed to have expended his stock of French; for "Snuff the chandelle" is not pure Parisian.

The point of the joke was lost, nevertheless; for the geometer, who put up at the Eagle, was not there.

"Are you going to stay with us, Florian?" asked Babbett.

"Nous verrons: we shall see."

"Tell us something of your travels," said Caspar, the host, who felt it incumbent on him to promote the conversation. "Have you been to Paris?"

"Of course," answered Florian, in a tone of voice in which a shrewd observer would have detected the ring of false metal; "but I didn't like it there. Nancy's the finest place yet. Go into a tavern there, and the walls are all looking-glasses, the tables are marble, and you eat and drink out of nothing but silver. You ought to go there once: you'd open your eyes and ears."

These signs of absorbing attention now showed themselves in Florian's own features; for the geometer, with his two colleagues, entered the room. They passed through to the little back parlor, where a table was set for them.

Florian seized his glass, made it clink against those of his friends, and said, "A votre santé."

Caspar had lost his interest in Florian's narration, and hastened to meet the new-comers and light them to their supportable, which was set in the back room. Florian, twirling his mustache, asked Constantine, very softly, "Which is it?"

"The lobsided one, with long hair, that came in first."

For a time all were silent, and nothing was heard but the clatter of knives and forks behind the screen.

But suddenly Constantine began to sing: -

 
"Oh, man of geometry,
Pull up your pegs:
How can you see straight with such
Shocking round legs?"
 

A burst of laughter filled the room, instantly succeeded by another silence. The knives and forks behind the screen were breathless also.

Florian got up and said to Josey, "Comment vous portez-vous, Monsieur Géomètre?"

"Quadulta loing," replied Josey, who continued to talk gibberish, amid renewed peals of laughter.

"'Wish you joy of your berth," said Constantine, taking the mop from the slop-bucket. "Here: just survey this table for me: you can do it very well, you know, for there's no need of brains."

Amid constant and increasing merriment, Josey entered upon his labors, and proceeded until Babbett came up, saying, -

"Have done with this, now, and crack your jokes somewhere else. Be quiet, Josey, or go about your business."

Josey struck the table and jabbered grimly. The screen was suddenly pushed aside, and Steinhaeuser, the admirer of Crescence, appeared, restrained by his two comrades from assaulting the mocker. Caspar tried to pacify him, and, as soon as he had partially succeeded, he stepped up to the three, and said, with more decision than might have been expected, -

"I'll tell you what: this sort of thing can't be done on my premises; and the sooner you know it the better. Drink your wine quietly, or I'll show you what's outside of the door. I won't have my guests insulted while I'm master of this house. No offence to one; but I will have order."

"Juste," said Florian: "all right: I'll find the gentleman somewhere else in good time. You hear, you lobsided lout over there? If I catch you within half a mile of Crescence again, I'll knock your crooked legs into a cocked hat, and then you may toddle on your tripod."

"You ragamuffin!" roared Steinhaeuser, before whom Caspar had posted himself. Florian made for him with a "Comapulation smash! foudre de Dieu!" but Caspar hauled him back, and Constantine was shrewd enough to interfere as a peacemaker.

The three left the house, followed by Josey. On the road they vowed never to patronize the Eagle again. Florian made an effort to go back, however: he hadn't given the landlord all his change.

"Thunder an' ouns!" said Constantine, "stay here, I tell you. You're the best man for flying off the handle in Wurtemberg. Be quiet, now: we'll manage to lay the geometer out some time, and make him forget the resurrection of the legs."

This counsel prevailed; and, to compensate themselves for their enforced inaction, they travelled through the village, the College Chap howling like a whipped dog, and making, as he expressed it, all the dogs in the houses rebellious.

3.
WEEKDAY LIFE ON SUNDAY

Next day Crescence did not dress in her Sunday clothes to go to church, but complained of being unwell, and remained at home.

The tailor, when he came home from church and saw his daughter in dishabille, said, -

"What's that? Be quiet, I tell you, once and for all," he continued, seeing Crescence about to speak. "You don't feel very well, because Florian's come back, and you don't want to be seen in the street. I've heard all about the fuss he had with the geometer last night. Now, just for spite, you must go to the Horb Garden to-day with the geometer. That's what I tell you: and one word's as good as a thousand."

"I'm sick."

"No use. Go up-stairs and dress yourself, or I'll measure your clothes with this yardstick."

"Let him talk," said the tailor's wife, who had entered by this time: "what he says is for the mice to dance by. Crescence, if you don't feel well, stay at home. If it depended on him, you wouldn't have a shred of clothes to put on, good or bad: all he can do is to put his feet under the table three times a day and get himself fed like a billet of soldiers."

The tailor advanced upon Crescence; but his wife posted herself in front of her, clenched her fists, and scared her liege-lord into a corner.

These people were fresh from church, where they had prayed and sung of love, peace, and happiness. Their hymn-books were still in their hands, and already had Discord resumed its reign.

Indeed, we have stumbled upon a peculiar household. The mother had been the parson's cook, and had married the tailor rather suddenly. Crescence was her oldest child, and she had, besides, a son and a daughter. She still wore citizen's dress, with the sole exception of the black cap of the peasant-woman, which, from its superiority in cheapness to the lace caps of the votaries of Paris, seems destined to survive all other traces of the peculiar costume of the peasantry.

During the early part of their wedded life they lived together very harmoniously; for where there is plenty of all things needful none but the most quarrelsome contract habits of dispute. Such a state of things is entitled, among the refined as well as among the vulgar, a happy match!

The tailor worked at his trade, and his wife kept a little shop for the sale of groceries and odds and ends.

But what is more subject to the fashions than those kings of fashion, the tailors? Balt only worked for the gentlefolks and for the Jews, who also wore citizens' dress: make peasants' clothes he could not, – and would not, for he had been to Berlin. New competitors established themselves in the village and in the neighborhood, and Balt would run about for days without finding work.

This induced him to enter upon a speculation, in which we find him still engaged. He went to Stuttgard in company with Anselm Meyer, Betsy's father, and bought old clothes to make new ones of. He particularly affected the old scarlet swallow-tail coats of the court footmen, in procuring which Anselm was of great assistance to him, as he had made acquaintances in high places in the times when all things wanted for the court were obtained on the contract-system. These liveries were cut up into red waistcoats for the peasants, such as are worn in the Black Forest to this day. They also purchased the old uniforms of the officers, and transformed the red lining of the warrior's habiliments into vestments for the peaceful shepherd. It was said, however, that Anselm managed to monopolize the lion's share of the profits, besides securing an additional commission at the hands of the illustrious venders.

From the time that Balt went out of fashion and the fortunes of the house began to ebb, the couple ceased the practice of ever exchanging a word of good feeling. Balt was scarcely permitted to hold a spoon in his hand long enough to eat his dinner. He could hardly call his soul his own; and, though nominally the master-tailor, he had not the power to cut a piece of bacon to his liking of a Sunday. Wherever he was, he was in his wife's way: she was absolute mistress, for she went on a trip every fall, and after her return the establishment always showed symptoms of a good supply of funds.

The children clung to the mother, of course, for not only had Balt fallen from his high estate, but he was not much at home. He hardly showed himself, except to eat and sleep. The former was well salted with pithy conversation, and the latter soothed with a well-ordered lecture.

Crescence now looked contemptuously at her father. The geometer entered, and at once the father and mother ran over with the milk of human kindness and loved each other tenderly. Crescence alone looked sad, and her lips trembled.

"Hurry, Crescence, and get dressed," said her mother. "Mr. Geometer, will you take dinner with us to-day? Do, please. It's nothing much, to-be-sure, – sourcrout, dumplings, and ham; but you'll like it for all that: Crescence did the cooking." A shrill giggle accompanied almost every word, the effect of which was further enhanced by a way the good lady had of twitching her nose as she spoke.

Balt exerted all his eloquence, and almost resorted to "gentle compulsion," to induce the geometer to stay. He took his hat out of his hand and refused to return it, well knowing that if the geometer stayed there would not only be a peaceful dinner, but perhaps also a quart of beer. This hope was realized. Cordele, the youngest daughter, was sent to the Eagle, and returned with a bottle under her apron, – a concealment not owing to any scruple of public opinion on the subject of temperance, but to that desire to make a secret of every thing which arises in every village as a foil to the habitual endeavor of everybody to know every thing about everybody else's business.

Crescence, finely dressed, but with eyes inflamed with weeping, brought the dinner. To guard against inquiries, she complained of smoke in the kitchen. Thus the dinner was richly spiced with falsehood. Before the geometer had half cleared his plate the worthy hostess put another piece upon it. He thanked her heartily for this hospitality, not perceiving that the good lady had only removed the savory morsel to snatch it away from her lord and master, who had honored it with his preference. From a similar motive, she took such excellent care to keep the guest's glass replenished that very little of the beverage came to the tailor's lips. The conversation was carried on by the lady of the house and the geometer exclusively. When the latter narrated the insolence of Florian, Crescence blushed, but found an excuse for leaving the table.

After dinner Balt said, "Now, wife, get in a cup of coffee."

"None for me, I thank you," said the geometer.

The tailor's wife was not so ill-mannered as to press the refreshment upon her guest against his will, for she grudged her husband his share of it. She afterward boiled a cup for herself, and toasted a biscuit to eat with it.

When the afternoon church was over, Crescence could not avoid taking a walk with the geometer; but she managed to keep clear of the street and go along the back fences of the gardens. When they approached George's ninepin-alley, she started with fright on seeing Florian standing there in his shirt-sleeves with his back to the road. Throwing a piece of money on the ground, he said, "'Bet you six creutzers I'll make five." Under the pretext of having forgotten something, Crescence turned round quickly, and the geometer had nothing to do but to follow her. On arriving at home, they surprised her mother at her private cup of coffee, – which was unpleasant. They now took the street of the village.

Florian had no other design on this Sunday than to attract attention, in which he succeeded brilliantly. Everybody spoke of him, – of his black velvet roundabout with silver buttons, his free rifleman's vest of red and black stripes, and his other glories. The people of a village, as of a city, are grateful to any one who will furnish them with a subject of conversation. The old butcher, Florian's father, drank in the fame of his son from every mouth, and did his best to keep it at the full. He was still rather a handsome man himself, with a rubicund face and bright gray eyes. He walked about in his shirt-sleeves and carried his handkerchief in the armpit of his waistcoat, – which gave him an air of originality. Whenever he met any one, he drew out his snuff-box and offered a pinch of "doppelmops," saying, "My Florian brought it with him: he's a fine fellow, a'n't he? None like him for twenty miles around. His master would give him his daughter in a minute, but the rapscallion won't have her. His master makes more out of hoofs than three Horb butchers do out of beef: he kills eight calves every day and two or three oxen besides. What would you think," he would generally add, taking off his little frontless cap, formed in the resemblance of a cabbage-leaf, and putting it on again, "if I was to go to Strasbourg and marry the girl? If she must have a tall man, why shouldn't the old one be as good as the young? I won't back out for any one yet a while."

He stopped longest at the door of George the blacksmith, – a childless old man of more than eighty years of age, – who was always sitting before his house at the roadside and hearing the news from all who passed by. Old George and old Maurita of the Bridge were the two persons through whom a piece of news could be brought to the cognizance of every soul in the village. George repeated every thing, good or bad, to tease others and to show them that he knew every thing; Maurita told the good news to impart her gladness, and the sad ones to obtain sharers in her regret. George the blacksmith was the largest purchaser of the old butcher's vaunts.

Thus the Sunday passed; and, when Crescence returned with the geometer, long after dark, she thanked her stars that the dreaded fracas had not occurred.

4.
HOW FLORIAN AND CRESCENCE MET AGAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME

Crescence rose an hour before daybreak next morning, fed the cattle, and attended quietly to the house-affairs. Once she looked up with pain when it occurred to her that she had not hummed a single tune. She went into the field.

With a bundle of fresh clover on her head, she came up the valley on her return, looking beautiful, as the healthful exercise brought out her fine form in all its strength and pliancy. With her right hand she held the bundle, and with her left the rake, which lay on her shoulder and also served to steady the load. She walked with leisurely and measured pace, the red blossoms blinking into her rosy face. Not far from Jacob's crucifix, the voice of Florian, who said, "God bless you, Crescence!" rooted her to the earth.

"Come," said Florian, again; "I'll carry it for you."

"For pity's sake, don't make me stop here, Florian, when all the people are looking at us. You see I can't help myself now, and can't run away, but I'll never speak a word to you again as long as I live if you don't go away. Come to Melchior's Lenore to-night before curfew, and I'll tell you every thing."

"Shake hands, won't you?"

Laying her left arm across the rake, Crescence took his hand, saying, "Good-bye till to-night."

All at once, in resuming her steps, Crescence perceived what a heavy load she had to carry: she groaned as if Firnut Pete had clambered on her shoulders in broad daylight. Having reached the crucifix, she deposited the burden on the high stone erected there for that purpose. This silent assistant is always found beside the symbol of faith. At the feet of Him who laid the heaviest burden on himself to make men free and brotherly, men take off a while the load of the day, to gather strength for further toil.

Crescence looked intently at the crucifix, but without thinking of what she did; for her mind was occupied with dread of Florian's following her. She determined not to turn round to look at him, and did turn, nevertheless; while a glow of pleasure lighted her face as she saw the brisk young fellow striding across the field.

All that day Crescence was serious and taciturn. Before dark, she took a collar, to get Walpurgia to wash it, as she said; but, instead of going to Walpurgia, she hurried to Lenore's house. The latter came to meet her, saying, -

"Go through the barn: you'll find him in the garden."

"Come with me," said Crescence.

"I'm coming directly: just you go first."

As she entered the garden, Crescence saw Florian sitting on a log, stooping greatly, and digging into the wood with a knife which looked somewhat like a stiletto. His long chestnut hair nearly covered his forehead.

"Florian, what are you doing?" asked Crescence.

He threw the knife aside, shook his hair out of his face threw his arms around Crescence, and kissed her. She offered no resistance, but at length said, -

"There! that's enough now: you are just the same you always were."

"Yes; but you're not what you used to be."

"Not a bit changed. You are cross because I go with the geometer, a'n't you? Well, you know you and I could never have got married. My folks won't let me go to service; and stay with them I don't want to, either, until my hair turns gray."

"If that's the way, and you like the geometer, I've nothing more to say: you might have told me that this morning. I remember a time when the king might have come, – and he owns the whole country, which is more than helping to measure it, – and you'd have said, 'No, thank you: I like my Florian better, even if he have nothing but the clothes on his back.'"

"Why, how you talk! What's the use of all that when we never can get married?"

"Oh, yes: there's the Red Tailor's daughter all over. If I'd only never cast eyes on you again! If I'd only broken both my legs before they ever carried me back home!"

"Oh, don't be so solemn, now! You'll look kindly at me yet, and laugh with me a little when you meet me, won't you?"

She gave him a look of playful tenderness, and smiled, – though she was more disposed to weep. Florian, picking up his knife and putting it in his pocket, made a move to go, when Crescence seized his hand and said, -

"Don't be angry with me, Florian: talk to me, dear. Don't you see? I haven't married the geometer yet, but cut him I can't now: my folks would throttle me in my sleep if I was to turn him off. Nothing can come of it for two or three years, anyhow; and who knows what may happen in that time? Perhaps I shall die. I wish I would, I'm sure."

Her voice was choked.

Florian's manner suddenly changed. The languor so unusual in him was gone: their eyes met, and held each other beaming with joy.

"You see," he began, "as I sat there waiting, I felt as if somebody had broken all my bones. I was thinking how unlucky we are, and again and again I was tempted to stab myself with this knife. If some one had come under my hands, I don't know- And I don't want to go away, either; and I must stay here; and I must have you."

"Yes; I wish you had; but we can't live on the old Emperor's exchequer. I know somebody who could help us, and I could make him."

"Never tell me about him: he's nothing to you, and shall be nothing. I won't have it: you are your father's child, and if anybody says any thing else I'll stick him like an eight-day calf. My father has half emptied my pockets already, but I've got some money yet: I mean to stay here a while and work under my father's right as a master-butcher. I want to show these Nordstetters what Florian can do: they shall have respect for me, they shall."

"You're a fine fellow," said Crescence. "Haven't you brought me any thing?"

"Yes, I have. Here."

Taking from his pocket a broad ring of silver, and a flaming heart in colors, with a motto in it, he handed them to Crescence.

After the first expressions of delight, she offered to read the motto; but Florian stopped her, saying, "You can do that after I am gone: now let's have a talk."

"Yes; tell me something. Is it true that you are courting your master's daughter in Strasbourg?"

"Not a bit of it. If I was, I wouldn't stay here; and stay I shall. All the Nordstetters must say that the like of Florian's not to be seen anywhere."

They remained long together. When Crescence returned home, she found the geometer waiting for her, and was forced to receive him with smiles. With a heavy heart she reached her chamber at last, and read the motto on the flaming heart: -

 
"Better build my grave of stone
Than love and call you not my own."
 

Weeping, she laid the picture into her hymn-book. It was the old story of what occurs in thousands of instances, in town and country, though often the colors are more blended and the contrasts not so harsh. Crescence loved Florian, and yet could not renounce the hope of a good establishment, such as she might expect to receive at the hands of the geometer: love drew her in one direction, interest in another. It would be strange if such discords did not lead to misery.